The Shadow's Call
by Darth Gilthoron
Summary: The ZF-1 is just ready to hit the market, and life currently looks grand for Zorg - until he receives a mysterious phonecall from a certain Mr Shadow which changes everything for him...
1. At the Office

"Mr Zorg was here to see you, sir", my secretary informed me.

Taking off my jacket, I frowned at the opposite wall. That early already? "What did he say when he didn't find me here?"

My secretary shrugged. "Nothing really, sir. He'll be back later."

"Come on", I said, walking past her into my office and tossing my jacket onto the desk carelessly. "He _did_ say something, didn't he?"

"Well… yes, sir." She didn't look at me then, but at her toes instead.

"Tell me", I insisted.

"He called you a… a lazy bugger, sir."

"Oh, did he?" I wasn't truly surprised at that. "I've been at it all night, and he knows that. One ought to be allowed to get a few hours' sleep after that, for hell's sake, even if it means arriving at the office well past ten o'clock!"

"Yes, sir", my secretary said obediently.

"Don't you go agreeing with me!" I sat down and shoved a pile of papers away vigorously. No time for that now. "You ought to get some spirit, girl. If you think I'm a lazy bugger, just tell me."

"Yes, sir."

I sighed. "You're so boring. Now listen, I'll have a look at my correspondence first, then I'd like not to be disturbed, except by Mr Zorg or my sister. In one hour and a half, I'd like to have the complete updated sales figures here on my desk. Understood?"

"Yes, sir", my secretary replied once more, and I wondered if her vocabulary really was so limited. She was good at her job, that was why I kept her, but she was just no good at small talk, and even worse at anything beyond. It couldn't just be put to my intimidating presence, since my sister was kind enough to frequently remind me that I had none. At least the woman had managed to stop blushing when she looked at me by now.

As soon as she had left my office and closed the door behind her, I buried my face in my hands and started rubbing my eyes forcefully. Damn, I was so tired! I might well fall asleep just as I sat. Damn, damn, damn. Lazy bugger! I could only snort at that – if I wasn't too tired for snorting. It had been half past six in the morning when I had left this place and finally headed home; the sky had been light for some time already. Giving in to exhaustion at last, I had not even bothered to take off my boots before casting myself down upon my bed. And when I had woken again after barely three hours, I had felt as if only a minute had passed since I had closed my eyes. But there had been no time for any more rest. I had hastily changed my shirt, shaved and splashed my face with a bit of cold water before I left my home, and here I was now, back again. Lazy bugger! He truly had no idea!

And then a memory returned to my consciousness which made a warm, glorious feeling of happiness and relief seep into my stomach. After many a short night, I had at last achieved my goal. The new ZF-1 model was ready to hit the market now.

My father would be so proud of me, I thought, smiling to myself. This one model was quite perfect. So light, compared to all the functions it possessed, so easy to take apart, and completely undetectable by radar! My father had been essential in the process of designing the ZA series and all the following models until the ZE, more than five years ago. Sadly, he had not lived to witness the success of his newest invention. This was where I had taken over from him, and I meant to continue his work just as he would have done. As I had left the office earlier this morning to get a few hours' rest, the final concepts had been on their way to the construction department. This afternoon, I would hold the final prototype in my hands.

This afternoon… it would be exactly fifteen years since the final ZA-1 prototype had found its way into my hands, a present from my father for my twentieth birthday. "Here, son", he had said, "take it, and use it well. And when your time comes, may you make things equally marvellous as this." I remembered how small it had seemed to me, just a little pistol, and how light, and how perfect in its smooth, slender shape and with its polished silver gleam – and how accurate and deadly when fired. Yes. Perfect. I had not parted with it ever since, not even when the ZD-4, only slightly larger, so very clearly surpassed it. There were so many fond memories I connected with it… like those summer days in Venice, fifteen years ago.

Raising my head and lowering my hands, I looked at the two pictures on my desk. One showed me and my family, my father smiling and with an arm around my mother's shoulders, my sister and me, children of twelve and ten, in front of them, laughing. On the other, three young people were standing on a beach, beneath a sky of brilliant sapphire blue. One, a grinning lad with a dishevelled pudding-basin haircut, was me, with an arm around my sister, slim and pretty and with wavy hair of dark blond. The last, a tall, coppery-skinned youth with handsome features, green eyes and a mane of golden curls, was the very same who had called me a lazy bugger this morning. The picture had been taken at Venice, on my twentieth birthday, almost fifteen years ago. The ZA-1 in my belt was clearly discernable if I looked closer.

We would be celebrating a grand jubilee today, and a very special one.

But until then, there were still a few things that needed seeing to. With a sigh, I picked up the two envelopes my secretary had deposited on my desk and slit them open with my pocket knife. One from a customer from halfway across the galaxy, asking for another delivery of ZE-8s, the other from my faithful consultant for finances, informing me of a new possible investment. After reading them through, I placed both of them on top of the pile of papers. I would see to that later.

Getting to my feet and stifling a yawn, I walked over to the far wall, where I tapped a panel briefly with my finger. Immediately it slid open, revealing a number of small keys. I typed in the correct code, and part of the wall slid aside to reveal a large ornate bathroom. Spartan furnishings were all very well, since they made you tough, but a bit of luxury always was a pleasant thing. I could be tough in other matters, but certainly not as far as a hot bath was concerned.

I stepped into the hidden room, and the wall closed again behind me, while the lights in the bathroom were automatically turned on. Once again I thought of my father gratefully. It had been him who had had this installed, as well as the bedroom accessible from here. When my father had had lots of work to do, he had sometimes slept here, at his office. I never did so, though I enjoyed a bath in here from time to time. Yet I occasionally took a pretty girl along to my father's magnificent four-poster bed.

I turned on the tabs and poured in some bubbly soap essence, then stripped off my clothes while watching how the bathtub was being filled up. Steam rose from it and began to cloud the room, dulling the high mirror at the opposite wall. Grinning contentedly, I prepared a pile of fluffy white towels beside the tub, then turned off the tabs and lowered myself into the hot water. What a blessing! I lay back and closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth, feeling that I had truly deserved it this time. The only thing to still improve it would be a girl to work all the tension out of my shoulders – or to climb in beside me, as there was room enough in the tub. My sister and I had almost been able to swim lengths in here when we were small.

I must have dozed off, for I suddenly jerked back into consciousness when a voice at my ear said: "Sleeping instead of working, are we?"

I automatically checked if I was decently covered – which was, with all the foam, easily the case – before I realized that it wasn't necessary because this could be only one person. "What did you have to wake me for?" I protested, with much effort but without success fighting a yawn. "Look, I know you're almost the boss around here, but for obvious reason this fails to impress me. So why don't you just leave me at it?"

"Because you can't spend the whole morning sleeping", my sister answered cruelly. "Other people are up since half past six."

"I only went home at bloody half past six", I groaned. "I spent the whole goddamn night here! And you know what your darling husband called me? A lazy bugger, just imagine!"

"Oh, I guess he did!" my sister snickered. "You usually give him reason enough." Then she very suddenly turned serious. "You don't mean you worked until half past six? You know you shouldn't! Mom always said that, remember? To Dad as well, mind that. And didn't I plainly tell you to go home at midnight at the very latest?"

"Your being a Zorg doesn't entitle you to talk to me in that patronizing way", I grumbled. "And why don't you congratulate me on finishing the job?"

"Oh. Did you really?" Now my sister sounded impressed, which gave me at least some satisfaction.

"Sure. You know what day it is today, don't you?"

"Of course. The first real ZA-1 was produced fifteen years ago."

"Exactly." I brushed a strand of hair out of my face. "I very much wanted get it done until today, you see."

"I never thought you would be done with it so soon. And neither did Marcus, by the way."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" I commented sarcastically. "It's always the same with you. You don't trust me to do anything right, and when I do it, no matter how often, you're always surprised."

My sister snorted. "Which in turn shouldn't surprise _you_, since one may find you lying in the bathtub instead of sitting at your desk on a regular base."

Now it was my turn to snort. "Call _that_ regular?"

"Yes", my sister said coldly. "And you've been in here for some time, apparently. Your secretary said you told her you didn't want to be disturbed more than an hour ago."

This made me sit up straight on the spot, and my sister retreated hastily as the water slopped up high from my hurried motion and almost spilled over. "_More than an hour ago_? What's the time?"

"Half past eleven, almost."

Had I really slept that long? Damn! Or was my sister just making fun of me? No, I assumed, for my stomach gave a discreet rumble just then. It seemed to be lunch time for me. "I'm coming out", I informed her, and she passed me one of the fluffy towels, which I wrapped around myself like a cloak as I got to my feet. Climbing out of the tub, I hastily rubbed myself dry and started putting on my clothes again. I should have told my secretary to give me two hours with the sales figures, I thought regretfully, instead of only one and a half, so I could have remained where I was, lying in the warm, foamy water. But done was done, and anyway, I was going to find myself something to eat now.

"We ought to see Venice again", my sister said. She was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, absently watching the water gurgling out of it. Strands of wavy hair the colour of dark honey framed her face, hanging down past her shoulders in a kind of neat disarray. She was pretty, as I noticed once again. If she hadn't been my sister, I might well have taken her along to the four-poster bed in the next room. Her skin was just as light as mine, yet her eyes were brown. Which was peculiar, really; she was fair-haired and dark-eyed, whereas I, the blackhead, had bright blue eyes. My parents had always found it funny, even more so since the two of us quite resembled each other and had always used to spend most of our time together. The perfect team, they had used to say when we were teenagers, in the hope that it would stay that way for later on. And it had; my sister would back me up in every discussion and manoeuvre me out of trouble before I saw it coming at all – sometimes the latter not without grimly scolding me afterwards, just as if she were the one among us who was one and a half years older, not the other way round. There was no way of fooling my sister, which was really useful, but I was usually the first who felt it.

"Are you listening?" my sister inquired suspiciously. "Or are you already dozing off again?"

"Yeah, right", I assured her hastily, shrugging into my shirt, "I agree with you." And to make sure she knew I had been listening, I added: "One of these days, I'm going to buy a palace at Venice."

My sister laughed. "Dear brother, you've always been a hopeless show-off."

"You think I can't afford it? I mean, you can't be possibly doubting my intellect this time." This was the usual pattern of discussion, and my sister had the tendency to gain the upper hand in it pretty soon – despite the fact that I was the more eloquent one among the two of us.

"I'm doubting the way your greedy little mind works. You want to have this, and that, and everything, just according to your current fancies."

"All right, you can doubt me all you like", I sighed. Even when she was teasing me, like now, it was vain to argue by just disagreeing. There was a saying in the higher levels of the corporation: _You don't disagree with Marie Elisa Zorg straight away, or else she is going to change your mind very quickly. _"At least you can't doubt my work this time."

"We'll see", she answered tartly, then broke into giggles and jumped up from her seat to give me a hug, just as she had done when she was still a girl. "Silly brother!"

"You'd like a palace, though", I remarked, putting on the high leather boots I was so particularly fond of.

"Actually, yes. Preferably along the Canal Grande, and on the San Polo side, but with the bedrooms facing some quiet lane or channel, although not too narrow."

"So you have fancies, too", I stated. "No need to give me the rough side of your tongue, then."

"Sometimes it's necessary", she snickered, matching me quite perfectly in her mischievous expression – only that she would, under normal circumstances, never admit that she had a mischievous streak just as well.

"Right", I said, hanging the towel neatly over the rack where it was supposed to be before my sister could give me a disapproving scowl for letting things lie around, "I think we're done here."

My sister pressed a button well concealed among the room's décor, and the hidden door slid open, letting us pass through, followed by a thin cloud of vapour wafting out after us until the door slid shut again.

But we were not alone in the office. My secretary was standing in the door, her whole attitude signalling disapproval, suspiciously watching the curly-haired man sitting at my desk and going through my papers. When she saw me, she announced, quite unnecessarily: "Mr Zorg is here, sir."

The man looked up and grinned at me broadly. "Morning, boss", he said.


	2. Business

"One question", said my brother-in-law, getting up from my desk to greet me. "Which Mr Zorg did she just announce, you or me?"

"Quite obviously, you. This is _my_ office, in case you haven't realized that yet." But I grinned as I said it. Nobody could be angry at Marcus for long, and after all, I found it useful when he took on some of my work, even when he did it without asking first.

"Don't complain", Marcus laughed, brushing a long, curly strand of blond hair out of his eyes. "Especially since I'm going to answer your mail for you."

"Great idea, Marc. You do that."

"Don't let him exploit you", my sister put in. "You offer him something like that once, you'll have to do it always."

Marcus shrugged. "I've done it before, you know. At least he doesn't boss me around – like you." But he smiled at her warmly as he said it. Although I kept tossing the prejudice at my brother-in-law that marriage was nothing but a milder form of slavery, he insisted on being happily married to my sister, and he claimed to have absolutely no complaints about her – which I, in turn, found somewhat surprising, yet maybe this could be explained by Marcus's almost unnatural good-naturedness. I for my part was never going to marry. Of course, there was the question of heirs to take over the company one day, but my sister and Marcus had produced three of them already, so there was nothing to worry about for me. I could go on as I had always used to, taking all the women I wanted without committing myself.

"No", said my sister, "Manuel isn't the type to boss you around. He'll play your best buddy and sneak up to you, and then he'll start being persuasive."

I grinned. That could sum it up nicely – at least as far as Marcus was concerned. "I can be _very_ persuasive sometimes."

My sister gave me a frown. "You've slept with my secretary again, haven't you?"

This caught me by surprise. How could she possibly know? "Why?" I managed.

"Yes, I really wonder why", my sister snapped, not at the least willing to tell me how she had found out. "She doesn't seem that suitable for you to me."

I shrugged, while Marcus grinned broadly, as he did so often. To him, such dialogues seemed very amusing, especially when between my sister and me. "She's well built, and she's bright", I answered resignedly, since my sister knew anyway. "And she's eager to please."

Marcus whistled and rolled his eyes, but was quickly silenced by a glare from my sister. "But _I'm_ not pleased", she growled at me. "Sleep with your own secretary, for a change!" And she silenced the snort of laughter from Marcus as well.

"Why would you care?" I tried, slightly annoyed at her sudden change of mood, and over so small and unimportant a thing, though my mischievousness was a lot stronger than my anger. "You're not her lover, are you? So there's no need to be jealous."

This time Marcus's snicker could not be stopped by glaring.

"Enough of that silliness", my sister commanded, sitting down at my desk and shoving my papers out of her way. Marcus and I exchanged a glance, and she clicked her tongue at us irritably. "Marcus, Manuel says he is done with the ZF-1 work."

"Really?" Marcus exclaimed.

I felt a huge grin pulling the corners of my mouth apart. "You bet." I was so proud at that moment, proud beyond imagination, yet that my sister had just given up on holding me a longer lecture certainly added to my spirits' soaring high. "A whole pound lighter than the original concept, breaks up easily into four parts, with the net launcher added, and undetectable by radar."

This announcement had exactly the desired impact. "You must be kidding", my sister exclaimed, while Marcus just gasped. "_Undetectable_? That's downright impossible! Not with a thing that size."

"Are you sure about this?" Marcus asked. Despite what he sometimes pretended, he knew much about weapons.

"Look, I may have been more or less brain-dead at three this morning, but our radar systems certainly weren't. They can't detect anything if you just remove that heat grid and the charge counter."

"You can't remove the heat grid", Marcus objected, at the same as my sister said: "But you need the charge counter!"

"You can put them back in when you need them", I explained. "They're just additional equipment. You simply chuck them into the spare parts compartment of your ship, where nobody will pay any attention to them even if they search your ship thoroughly, and put them on the gun when you feel like it. It works just as well without, by the way."

"Maybe, but you burn your fingers without the heat grid", my sister said pragmatically.

"_I_ don't", I remarked, giving her a meaningful look.

"But he's got a point, Lisa", Marcus put in before she got a chance to snap my head off. "This is a brilliant idea. It'll sell like nothing before, especially to races like… like the Mangalores, for instance."

"Like the _what_?"

My sister raised her eyebrows at me. "Don't you ever read the newspapers? Or watch the news, at least?"

"No", I said flatly, while gazing at her pointedly. "People expect me to work."

This earned me one of my sister's most irritable "_tsk_s". "Don't you go referring to _that_ discussion. You were reading the paper while supposedly listening to me, then, and it was most impolite of you."

"Well, it was breaking news this morning", Marcus interjected hastily. "The Federal Army chased them out of their hiding places. They're dispersed all over the galaxy now."

"So what did they do?" I asked, partly out of interest, partly to avoid another discussion about my manners.

Marcus shrugged. "They call themselves warriors, you know. You can probably imagine. Raids on neighbouring planets and so on, and constant fighting among themselves, as well, among their clans or something like that. An extremely unpleasant kind, and with a most interesting concept of honour."

"A wholly distorted concept of honour", Lisa added. "They consider it a question of honour to blow up things, it seems. Ships and so on."

"Pretty weird", Marcus agreed.

"They raid, slay and ravage without regard to anything – a disgrace to the civilized world. It was about time the Federation got fed up with them."

"And scattered them to the winds", Marcus said with satisfaction. "However, they have one ability which makes them highly interesting."

"Which is that?" I asked, right on clue.

"They're shape-shifters", my sister explained.

"They're _what_?"

"Shape-shifters", my sister repeated patiently. "They can change their appearance at will."

There was only one thing I had to say to this: "_Bloody hell_!"

"Yes, that's what I said when I heard it this morning", Marcus remarked.

"You sure you're not kidding me?"

"Perfectly", Marcus insisted. "It was on the news. They can change their appearance in a heartbeat. It's really amazing. They could be anyone."

"Alright, you've got me, folks", I said, and Lisa and Marcus both gave me surprised looks. "I'm just masquerading as me; in truth I'm a bloody great big… thingy. What did you call them?"

"Mangalores", Marcus helped me out, laughing.

"I might even believe you", my sister giggled. "You must have been one all your life. That explains so much."

"Thanks, dearest sister, you're so charming today. What do they look like normally?"

"Ugly", Marcus replied immediately.

"Humanoid, but taller than a man", my sister described them. "Grey and somewhat wrinkled skin, bald, large black eyes, no real noses, yellow fangs in a wide mouth – or gaping maw, that somehow fits better – and funny ears."

"Pointy ears", Marcus added, "but they point downwards."

I tried to form a picture in my mind and found that Marcus's first attempt to describe them had been quite suitable. "Sounds like some kind of modern orcs to me."

Marcus exchanged a glance with my sister, who nodded. "Might be a good association. Space orcs."

"Well, you must know", said Lisa, again giving me that mischievous look. "I've been suspecting for years that my parents brought up an orc together with me."

"I love you too, Lisa."

Marcus snickered. "You two are simply hilarious today. Has he done anything to you this morning, like, let's say, disagreed with you?"

Giggling, my sister leapt up from her chair (which was, in fact, mine) and wrapped her arms around my neck. "He's done nothing wrong. He's my favourite orc."

"And you're my favourite mountain troll", I answered, cuddling back. Whatever Lisa said to me, she was still my beloved little sister, even if she pretended to be the elder sister, told me off for being rude and not wiping my boots and tried to send me to bed. And I was her admired elder brother, even if I spat cherry stones across the table and chose to consider lounging in an armchair with one leg over its side a proper position for official meetings.

"Ah, right", said Marcus, amused, "so nothing to worry about, eh? As I was saying, Manuel, before I was interrupted by your manifesting ignorance, we might make a grand deal with types like the Mangalores if you really managed to make it undetectable."

"I hope they won't be the only ones", I answered sceptically, "or else we might get into a bit of trouble with the Federal Government."

Lisa snorted. "Forget it. They're so busy with themselves, and they're in no position to even negotiate as long as you're their creditor."

"Good point", I admitted. "Still, I'd like to get a proper contract with the Federal Army or something. Business with them is not as good by far as it might be."

"On the other hand", Marcus interjected, "we've earned quite a fortune by offering them credit, so don't complain."

"Yeah, and payment's due by next Tuesday", I said. "I've had a word with that old fool Lindbergh, quite clearly stating that I don't want to hear any more excuses."

"Oh dear", my sister remarked, letting go of me with a frown. "I hope you didn't say the same as last time."

Marcus had taken to riffling through the papers on my desk once more. Now he raised his head as well as his eyebrows. "What did he say?"

My sister rolled her eyes at me before she planted her feet on the ground firmly and about two spans apart, hooked her thumbs into her belt and threw her head back to the left in what appeared quite an arrogant way to shake the hair out of her face. "I don't give a damn about bloody legal restrictions", she said in the dark, gruff voice she always used to imitate a man. "Where's my goddamn money?"

Marcus and I couldn't but laugh at that. "Alright, thanks", Marcus snorted. "I can almost see him now."

"Hey, I didn't quite strike that pose", I objected. Somehow my sister could always make me look like an arrogant git when she imitated me.

"You did! I was standing right behind you."

"I did _not_!"

"You did, too!"

"Did _not_!"

"Did too!"

"Bloody did NOT!"

"Of course you did! Stop bickering!"

"_You're_ bickering! And I still didn't!"

"Sure you did!"

"Never!"

"If you two would permit me", Marcus put in, grinning, "I think your secretary wants a word with you, Manuel."

Only now I noticed that my sister and I were standing opposite each other with our fists clenched, glaring and looking as if we were going to jump at each other's throat any minute now. Hastily I assumed a more neutral position and turned to face my secretary, who was standing in the doorframe and giving me a weird look. "What?" I barked at her, sharper than intended.

"Your sales figures, sir."

"Give them here." Striding across the room, I snatched them from her. "Next time you knock. And if you think I'm a crazy bloody freak, just tell me."

"Yes, sir", my secretary acknowledged shakily.

"Don't you go yessirring me all the time! I can't stand it!"

"Yes, s… I mean, sorry, sir."

I sighed, exasperated. That woman just didn't possess the slightest sense of humour. Taking life that seriously made you end up in… well, probably in her position. And maybe in a lunatic asylum a few years later. And she would certainly blame me if she did.

"Sales figures?" Marcus asked as soon as my secretary had left the room. "Why don't you just hand them over?"

I spread the four sheets of paper out on the desk, and the three of us bent over them to have a look. Altogether, business was going magnificently, especially in the company's main enterprises. The sub-firms were all positive, at least, but some obviously did not earn us too much. Two of the smaller taxi firms run by one of the sub-firms were teetering right on the edge. Maybe I should sell them, I thought. They just weren't as profitable as me and my advisors had hoped they would be. Selling them might at least fetch a bit of money.

"Just wait 'til the ZF-1 enters the statistics", Marcus beamed, rubbing his hands. "The figures are going to explode, I bet you." He was the economist among the three of us, yet it didn't really need an economist to predict that.

Without Marcus realizing it, the mention of the ZF-1 together with the word "explode" at once caused an association. "By the way, folks", I said casually, "did I yet tell you about the little red button?"

At once I had their full attention, and the sales figures were forgotten. "What little red button?" my brother-in-law asked, just as my sister demanded: "What are you talking about?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, I just wanted to counsel you never to try it indoors."

Lisa and Marcus exchanged a glance. "Explain", my sister said.

Grinning, I set about to do so. Today, life was good.


End file.
